Hazy Fantasy
by Andromeda Silver
Summary: The lines between reality and nightmare is blurred when Sam finds himself in an alternate life without any of his family. One shot, first season.


Author's Notes: I started writing this nearly a year ago when I got annoyed with another author's take on an alternate reality for the Winchesters. Now I'm just squeaking in before the show does their superior version. This is set during season one prior to "Dead Man's Blood". Thanks to my sister and beta, as usual.

* * *

White-hot pain seared Sam's mind, radiating out through his entire body like fire. He was sure his head would explode—he couldn't take much more of this. A horrible, blood chilling scream echoed in his ears, easily the most anguishing sound he'd ever heard, which made it that much worse when he realized he was the one shrieking in agony. Mercifully everything went black—Sam didn't care if it meant he was dead, just that the pain finally ceased. His relief was short lived.Drip, drip… 

Something wet and thick ran down Sam's forehead. He raised a shaky hand to feel if his skull really had split open, but froze when another drop splattered on the back of his hand.

Oh God… 

Sam didn't want to open his eyes, but they did so of their own accord.

Above him was Jess, stuck on the ceiling in that grotesque pose, and bleeding from her stomach.

"NO!" he screamed like he'd done the actual night Jess died and in countless subsequent nightmares. He tried to get up to pull her off the ceiling before she burned, but his body lay perfectly immobile.

Jess's head moved, her shocked expression softening into a smile. It tore Sam's heart—he'd loved her grin. Everything wrong with his life would melt away with the warmth of it.

"Jess, no!" he whimpered.

Sam gasped when Jess's face changed shape, her long blond hair shortened into a dark, rakish mess, and her nightgown transformed into a leather jacket and faded jeans. Suddenly his girlfriend was now his brother staked to the ceiling.

"Dean! Why are you here?"

Dean Winchester smiled down at his younger brother covered in his blood. "Hey, Sammy. Bet you didn't see this one coming." Blood bubbled from his mouth, staining his teeth and lips scarlet.

The flames burst out from the wound in Dean's abdomen, his face contorting in agony. Sam wasn't sure whether the screams ringing in his ears were his brother's or his own.

* * *

_Darkness imprisoning me  
All that I see  
Absolute horror  
I cannot live  
I cannot die  
Trapped in myself  
Body my holding cell_

"One" by Metallica

Rough hands grabbed Sam by the shoulders and shook him. "Wake up! Calm down!" ordered an unfamiliar gruff voice.

Sam's eyes snapped open. A tall, dark haired man with gray streaks at his temples, brown eyes, and glasses stood over him, pinning his arms to his sides. Sam stopped flailing, but his heart still raced.

"Who're you?" demanded Sam. "Where am I? Where's Dean?" All he could remember from before the nightmare was that he and his brother were out in the woods in some God forsaken town hunting some creature. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if one of his visions had gotten Dean injured, or worse—killed.

The man shot him a look. "What do you mean, who am I? I'm your father, Sam."

Sam almost wanted to laugh. John Winchester could knock the beanpole halfway across the room with a good shove. "You are _not_ my father!"

"Fine, be that way," growled the man, finally releasing Sam's arms. "I only adopted you and raised you since you were a baby."

Sam's mouth hung open. "Yeah, right, and unicorns are real. No way in hell I was adopted!" Sometimes it seemed like he had been considering how he and John never saw eye-to-eye on anything. This had to be a prank of Dean's. "Where is Dean?"

The man removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Jesus, I don't know what's gotten into you, Sam. Ever since I told you how your parents died you haven't been the same. I expected some grief and outrage, but this…"

"_Parents_? What happened to my dad?"

The man sighed. "Ok, I'll play along. When you were a baby, your house caught fire and burned down one night, taking your parents with it."

"Then how did I make it out?"

The man's eyes glistened. "Your older brother carried you out even though he was badly burned. Sadly, he never recovered and died in the burn ward a few weeks later."

Sam's heart fell out of his chest. "Not Dean too!" he whispered, almost in prayer.

"I really am sorry, Sam. It took me so long to find out what happened to your family from the orphanage…I thought you'd want to know—to have closure, but you've been so devastated that I wish I hadn't bothered. I just wanted to know why you sometimes scream 'Dean' in your sleep. It's not hard to hear you all the way down the hall."

_He's not dead!_ Sam thought. _Dean can't be dead! How can I have imagined twenty-two years of being tortured by an older brother who's been dead since before I was one?_

The man put a fatherly hand on Sam's shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. "Look, I know that you're not big on sharing emotions, but I'm here if you want to talk. It's the curse of being a school counselor. And of course Rose is always willing to listen if you'll feel better talking to someone who doesn't do this sort of thing for a living."

Sam stared at the man. For as long as he could remember, Sam had always been accused of wearing his heart on his sleeve. Since when had he ever bottled up about anything?

"Peter? Is everything all right?" A plump woman with graying auburn hair stuck her head in the door to the living room. Sam finally registered that he was sitting on a well-loved sofa in a charming den he'd always seen in friends' houses.

The man—Peter, Sam reminded himself—straightened. "Yes, Rosie. Sam just had a vivid dream."

"That's the understatement of the year! That yelling scared me so much I dropped the kettle all over the dog! He's not going to let me go near him for a very long time now."

"I'm sorry…" Sam struggled to form the final word, "Mom."

"Oh, don't worry about it," Rose smiled. "You can make it up to me by coaxing the dog out from the laundry room."

"Yeah. Sure." Steadying himself with a firm grip on the arm of the couch, Sam stood up and headed towards Rose. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile as he passed her in the doorway in his search for the laundry room.

Once Sam left Rose walked over to her husband, concern etched in her face. "Pete, what's going on with Sam? It sounded like he was being tortured. I don't think I've ever heard someone in that much pain."

Pete shook his head. "I don't know. He won't talk about it, as usual. But what should I expect from a twenty-two-year-old man? One thing bothers me though."

"Just one? Our son's having waking nightmares and he's dropped out of college, for crying out loud!"

"I know that, but he knows things he shouldn't…like that his brother's name was Dean. I never told him that."

Rose grasped her husband in a tight embrace. "I'm scared, Pete. I feel like I don't know who Sam is anymore."

"Sometimes I wonder if we ever really knew him," whispered Peter.

Sam found the laundry room off the kitchen with little trouble. In the far corner of the small room stood a large basin-like sink, underneath which a black lab mix cowered. Squatting down to the dog's level, Sam called it softly.

"C'mon, boy, I'm not going to hurt you." Sam patted his knee.

The dog cocked its head and reluctantly sauntered over to Sam. It sniffed his hand and licked it once the dog was satisfied that Sam was no threat.

Sam smiled and scratched the dog's ears. "I always did want a dog." He felt for the dog's license and read the name. "Jasper, huh? Not what I would've thought I'd name a dog, but it works."

Sam stood and wandered back towards the living room, Jasper following at his heels. Sam inspected the pictures and other memorabilia to get more clues to this dream life. At least he hoped it was a dream. He always wanted a stable home life, but not one without Dean. Though he was a pest at best, Sam couldn't imagine life without Dean—especially if he died in that damned fire.

Sam found a stack of mail on the kitchen table. He tried to read the envelopes, but all of them were written in an illegible scrawl. "So much for finding out what my adopted name is," he sighed. "I just hope that isn't so important that not knowing it will get me sent to the imaginary loony bin."

He quickly dropped the mail when Peter and Rose came into the kitchen from the living room. "I see Jasper's no worse for wear," said Peter.

"Still doesn't care much for me," Rose said, casting an eye at the dog hiding behind Sam's legs. "Though the dog never really did like me. Follows you everywhere though."

Sam looked down at Jasper sitting obediently at his side. "Yeah, I guess he does."

"Sam, I know you hate it when I ask you, but are you ok?" asked Rose.

"Yeah," he lied, "perfect. Just a dream, nothing more."

"Ok, I'll get back to making dinner. It'll be ready in about half an hour if you want to go do something."

_Perfect! I can go investigate,_ thought Sam. Aloud he said, "Great! I'm going to be in my room if you need me."

Sam found the stairs to the second floor—thankfully the house was rather small with an open floor plan—and found his room thanks to a "keep out" sign. Jasper had followed him and curled up in the dog bed in the corner. Sam took in the room. It was how he'd always pictured it would look like—blue walls, plenty of bookshelves, two large windows overlooking the back yard, and a desk littered with papers and books. He decided that the desk was the best place to start looking for clues to why he was here. Most of the debris was notes for various classes and messages for himself. Nothing helped solve the mystery.

"Too bad you can't talk, Jasper," he muttered to the snoozing dog. "You'd probably tell me all about myself. Next best thing—look for a journal. If we Winchesters keep anything, it's a hunting journal and a weapon or two at all times."

He rummaged around in the desk drawers, his dresser, and under his mattress with no luck. When he was about to give up, figuring that maybe here he wasn't the journal type, his hands closed over soft leather under the bed. He pulled out the object and gasped.

Dad's journal! I'm not crazy! 

Sam opened the beat up notebook to see if he could find any helpful information, but all he found was confusion.

"I know Dad's handwriting isn't the best, but this is total gibberish!" He flipped through the entirety of the journal only to find disjointed scribbles covering every page.

"What the hell is going on?"

A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Sam," said Rose, "dinner's ready, sweetie."

Sam quickly stuffed the journal under his bed. "Ok, thanks. I'll be right down."

Instead of returning downstairs, Rose opened the bedroom door and entered. She looked downright grave. "Sam, please. I'm your mother. Tell me what's going on."

"Look, Rose--"

"Stop calling me that! You used to call me Mom before you went off to college. What happened to you? Did you get into drugs?"

Sam tried not to laugh; drugs seemed like such a minor problem compared to the demon and other monsters. "No, I'm not on drugs and I never was."

"Then what happened? You used to be such a sweet boy. A bit too quiet for my tastes, like you were always hiding something, but still I love you. I feel like you're shoving Pete and me completely out of your life, like somehow finding out about your biological family destroyed this family we had."

Sam lost focus of Rose's talk as an all too familiar pain that preceded his visions stabbed through his brain. He tried not to cringe as the ache increased, radiating out from the center of his skull.

Suddenly the agony tore through his body, just as intense as the pain he suffered just before he found himself in this screwed up reality. Vaguely he heard Rose cry out for Peter as Sam toppled to the floor in a screaming, flailing mess.

* * *

"SAM! Stay with me!" Dean yelled. "Don't you die on me! Dad will have my ass if he finds out I robbed him of tearing you a new one about not researching a hunt."

Sam's head still screamed in agony, but it seemed to lessen when he heard his brother's voice. His vision was blurry, but he could make out Dean's outline standing over him in the semidarkness. Somewhere nearby something growled menacingly.

"Sam, if you're awake, you need to get up _now_ and run!"

Sam tried to get his body to obey him, but the pain kept him immobile.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean turned towards the growling. "What did you do to my brother, you bastard?"

Sam heard his brother fire several rounds into the woods. An unearthly scream penetrated the woods. He screamed with the creature as the pain tore through him until he blacked out. Sam stayed conscious just long enough to feel Dean's arms link under his and drag him away from the monster.

* * *

_I'm miles from where you are,_

_I lay down on the cold ground_

_And I, I pray that something picks me up_

_And sets me down in your warm arms_

"Set Fire to the Third Bar" by Snow Patrol

Sam felt a warm weight on his chest as he swam closer to consciousness. He heard Peter and Rose arguing and groaned. He was back in this horrible suburban nightmare. A warm, wet tongue licked his face—Jasper was lying on top of him. Apparently the mutt had some sort of "vision sense" like companion dogs for epileptics, or he just liked to lie on anything within reach.

"We need to take him to the hospital, Peter!" cried Rose. "There's something seriously wrong with Sam."

"Calm down," said Pete. "I think it's all mental. I've got a friend who can help figure out what's going on."

"No doctors or hospitals of any kind!" Sam said, opening his eyes. "They can't help me. And neither can you."

Peter and Rose gaped at him. "Sam, you just had some sort of seizure and were obviously in serious pain!" exclaimed Rose. "You need to see a doctor."

Sam sat up, pushing Jasper off his chest. "No, this is something a trip to the ER won't solve. I need to do this on my own, and the less you know the better."

"Sam, I know that as a young man you need to assert your authority and be self-reliant, but this is ridiculous!" Peter threw up his hands. "Whatever is going on, it obviously has completely gotten out of your control. You need help of some sort, whether you're willing to admit it or not."

_This isn't happening!_ Sam thought, balling his hands into fists. _This is all just a delusion or hallucination. I'm really out there in those woods with Dean dragging my ass away from that monster. Why can't I remember what we were hunting?_

Rose tried to take Sam's hand, but he yanked it out of her grasp. "I need to go. Don't try to stop me." He found a backpack and started stuffing what clothes and supplies he could reach.

"Samuel Smith!" Peter bellowed. "As long as you're under my roof--"

"It's Winchester! I'm shortly going to be far from this house, and I'm an adult. You have no legal authority over me so get out of my way." Sam shoved his way past Pete and Rose and down the stairs. He heard Pete yell something after him, but he didn't listen.

_Dean said something about not researching the hunt…I need to figure out what we were chasing,_ Sam thought as he searched the downstairs for a set of car keys, Jasper following at his heels. _The best place to start should be the library…if I can find both it and some form of transportation._

After canvassing the kitchen and the front hall, Sam was about to give up hope of finding car keys, suspecting that Pete and Rose had hidden them so he couldn't leave, when he noticed Jasper leaping at a basket on an end table he'd missed. Sam checked the basket and found three sets of keys.

"Good boy, Jasper," he muttered. Sam quickly eliminated the pink flower keychain and the D.A.R.E. keychain as his and picked up the remaining plain ring. The mutt leaped even higher indicating that he'd chosen the correct keys and ran for the door. Sam opened the front door, and Jasper raced towards a shabby, black, late '90s model Honda Civic.

"If Dean could see this, he'd be laughing his ass off," Sam muttered as he opened the car door, allowing Jasper to claim shotgun as he slid into the driver seat. "Or he'd kill me for not having a Chevy."

After driving around for nearly an hour, Sam finally found the public library, along with the name of the town and the state he was in: Silver Springs, California. His scalp prickled; the name seemed familiar, but he couldn't remember why. He turned towards Jasper once he pulled into the parking lot. "Even if this place is entirely a hallucination, I seriously doubt that I'll be able to take you into the library, boy." Sam cracked all the windows and promised Jasper that he'd be back shortly.

As Sam headed for the front door of the library, he felt his back pocket vibrate. He pulled out a cell phone, suddenly remembering stuffing it there before leaving the Smiths'. The caller ID read "Heather".

Who is Heather? I don't remember ever having a friend named Heather. It probably doesn't matter since this is all in my imagination…probably. 

"Hi," he answered.

"Sam, where are you?" demanded a female voice. "Something happened—I need to see you."

"I'm at the library. What happened?" What could it hurt to play along with a hallucination?

"Oh, shit, you're under lock and key, aren't you? How could I forget?"

"Not anymore. I just left after an…incident."

"You didn't have a vision, did you?"

"I…" How could he classify his quick, painful glance back at reality? "Yes. Rose and Peter saw it too. Well, me have the vision at least. I left as soon as I could."

"Shit! We must've had visions at about the same time. We definitely need to meet somewhere. How about our usual halfway point?"

"I have to look into something first." Sam couldn't ask Heather where the meeting place was without arousing suspicion—and he needed to find a way out. Although he wasn't sure why he felt the need to lie to Heather if she was imaginary, he instinctively knew that he needed to.

"If it has something to do with your vision maybe I can help."

"Actually…maybe you can. What do you know about creatures that use psychic or mental attacks?" It had to be the answer. Nothing else made sense.

"Not much, but Dad's got a whole library on the stuff. I'll see what I can bring to Ray's. See you in an hour?"

"As long as you don't mind Jasper coming. He followed me in my escape."

"Since when have I minded? That vision really messed with you, didn't it? Think you can remember your way to Ray's?"

"I'm not so sure now that you mention it. I had trouble finding the library."

"You're scaring me, Sam. You practically live in the library. Look, I'm on my way to Ray's already, but you should be fine getting there. It's a straight shot up Route 198."

Images of street signs and landmarks flashed through Sam's mind. "It's up near Modesto. I remember now."

"Ok, I'll be waiting. If something happens, call me."

Sam hung up and stared at the phone. How could he remember a route that he was sure he'd never taken before? The sense of déjà vu sent his stomach squirming. Maybe his mind was trying to get him to remember how he got attacked on a hunt? Was this whole hallucination a way of immobilizing him to be ripe as prey?

_Dean, I owe you so much. Heather, you can wait._

Sam headed into the library, the one place he was sure he could find answers.

* * *

Frustrated, Sam threw down yet another book. "What the hell is going on?" Every book he picked up seemed to be filled with random letters as if monkeys with typewriters wrote them all. For once in his life Sam realized that his answers wouldn't come from books.

"Ok," he muttered, rubbing his eyes, "what do I know? One, this whole life I'm experiencing can't be real. Watching the Sci-Fi channel late at night taught me that much. If that is the case, then the thing Dean and I were hunting has to have some sort of psychic abilities to be creating such an illusion and my periodic torture. Two, Dean said I didn't do the right research for the hunt. So if I do remember what I thought it was, I can work off of that to figure out what the creature really is. Three, whatever it is it likes the outdoors since Dean was dragging me across the forest floor."

He glanced at the spines of the stacks of books he'd tossed. As he read over the nonsense titles, it hit him: he'd tried to look up demons at the local library before the hunt, specifically Hindu demons. "Something about the MO had me thinking it was an Eastern demon of some sort. There wasn't a whole lot of information to go on in the first place, but it didn't help that the local library was so uptight they didn't even carry _Harry Potter_."

The more Sam concentrated on the matter, the more flashes of memory he had. As regained more and more of his memory prior to the attack, he worried that another fit of pain would engulf him like the other times he'd question the fantasy life. None came.

_Maybe the library is my mental refuge, where I can be safe from whatever's attacking me. It's like I imagined this library as a representation of all my knowledge and memories. Dean would laugh at that._

The thought of his brother desperately trying to save his sorry ass suddenly jumpstarted the last bit of information he was trying to remember. Armed with his recovered knowledge, Sam returned to his car and impatient Jasper.

"Ok, boy," he said, "time to confront Heather and see what she knows."

* * *

It felt like Sam was on autopilot the entire way up to his meet with Heather. Everything was familiar, as if he'd traveled the route many times before, but he had the feeling that he'd been there with his family on a hunting trip rather than meeting friends. A cold feeling settled in his stomach—whatever his destination was, it didn't have any happy memories attached to it. Almost as if the dog sensed his unease Jasper kept his head on Sam's lap during the drive. Sam appreciated the company and smiled when he wondered if Jasper was his manifestation of Dean's presence.

"I think you'd look more like a junkyard dog if you were a representation of Dean," Sam grinned and patted Jasper. "You need a few more scars. And you're neutered."

After an hour Sam saw the bright sign advertising Ray's Diner. He pulled into the gravel parking lot and wondered briefly if Heather would be a warped memory as he headed inside.

As soon Sam opened the door, a brunette girl waved madly from a booth at the back of the diner. He assumed that she was Heather and had to admit that she looked familiar. Something about her shocking blue eyes made the hair on the back of his neck prickle—he knew them, but they felt wrong.

"Hey, took you long enough!" the woman sighed as Sam slid into the opposite side of the booth. "Don't tell me you got lost."

"No, I decided to spend some time at the library," he answered.

Heather laughed. "I still say you should have majored in library science since you spend more time in libraries than the librarians. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I think so, but something is still bothering me. I can't quite figure it out."

"Not to change the subject, but what happened with the freaky visions of yours? What did you see?" Heather asked.

What could it hurt to tell a hallucination she wasn't real? "Heather, I don't know how to say this."

"Since when have you ever held anything back, Sam? Does this have to do with mental attacks that you were talking about earlier?"

"I think I'm under one. Right now. This isn't real, you're not real."

"What are you talking about? I'm sitting right here!"

"No, you're a hallucination."

Heather muttered something then hauled off and slapped Sam across the face. "Was that a hallucination?"

Sam reflexively put a hand to his stinging cheek. "If my mind's being manipulated then anything would seem real."

"This is nuts."

"What did you find out from your dad?"

"Sam, I'm not playing this game of yours."

"Heather, I need to know how to fight this! I need to--"

Sam screamed as the white-hot pain returned in greater force than ever before, stabbing through his body and crushing his skull to the point where he thought his head exploded. He barely felt it when he hit the table on his way to the linoleum floor.

* * *

"_**DEAN!**_"

The ungodly scream sent chills through the older Winchester's soul. Never had he heard his little brother shout in such agony. He grabbed Sam's hand tighter as he tried to hold him down with his cell phone balanced precariously on his shoulder.

"You hear that, Caleb?" Dean yelled into the phone. "I need help and I need it fast. I could barely get him into the car to get him away from that thing. No, if anything he's worse now that he's back at the hotel. What the hell can do this kind of damage?"

Sweat poured down Sam's face, blurring what little he could see. His brain felt like someone was crushing it in a vise while burning it. Despite the agony he told himself that he had to latch onto Dean and hold on for dear life. If he could just ride out this horrible pain he could survive.

As if to prove him wrong, the agony increased, crushing his heart. He tried to scream, but the pain's intensity stole his breath. Instead he seized Dean's arm with his free hand and stared into his brother's eyes. _Please, please don't let go! You're the one keeping me here_.

"I'll get this son of a bitch, Sam, I swear," Dean whispered.

Before he blacked out again Sam thought, _Maybe dying won't be so bad._

* * *

_It's just the two of us, a silver cross, and some strength that you won't believe._

"Wipe that Smile off Your Face" by Our Lady Peace

"Sam? Sam, wake up!" Heather hissed in his ear. Sam felt his whole body shaking from the ordeal. The world reeled when he opened his eyes.

Heather sighed. "You hit the table hard when you seized. Don't sit up anytime soon, ok?"

"That would explain the pain in the back of my head," Sam gasped.

"I've never seen anything like that. What the hell happened?"

Something clicked inside his head; whether it was an idea or just the bones of his skull scraping against each other he didn't know. "Every time I think or ask questions about how I got here, I pass out," Sam muttered. "And I end up semi-conscious back with Dean." _Where I belong_.

"Dean?" asked Heather. "Who is he? Not your brother you discovered? He's dead, Sam, remember?"

"He's not dead," he growled. "I can't say the same for you, though."

The brunette laughed. "You're bleeding from a head wound into my lap, and I'm dead? Sam, you have some serious brain damage."

"I don't live in Silver Springs. It isn't even a town. It's part of a national forest or something out in California where some monster's been attacking hikers and locals for the past month. Dean and I drove out there to investigate."

"You're insane! Just be quiet while I try to stop the bleeding."

"I thought it was some type of shape-shifter…whatever it was it lured its victims out into the woods where it could devour them at will. People who saw them wander off said it looked like they were in some sort of trance. We did some research but didn't take into account the mind control."

"Sam, that whole hunt is in your head. You've been researching the demon that killed our mothers for the past six months. You must be confusing that research with your visions."

He glared at Heather. "When did I ever say we hunted things? Who are you really?"

"You implied hunting when you said that you and your brother were following a lead on a monster. You're not exactly the Jane Goodall of the supernatural world. As for who I am, I'm a psychic, just like you—without the frequent mental breakdowns."

"No, you're not. I remember you now. Your name is Heather, but you died more than ten years ago when a werewolf tore you apart. You were the second victim—got Dad's attention zeroed in on the bastard."

Heather smiled and let out a hollow laugh. "Aren't you the smart one? From what I found in your memories you'd forgotten that incident."

Sam's blood ran cold, his pain shutting off like a light. "You're the thing attacking me, aren't you?"

Her eyes turned brilliant scarlet. "Attacking is such a harsh word, Sam. I prefer toying."

"Either way, my brother will kill you."

"Oh I doubt that since you used the wrong source material on me. Dean doesn't have a clue how to kill me, let alone get you out of my reach."

"If you read my mind you'd know that you underestimated him. Nothing gets past him."

"Even if that was true, you're too weak to survive much longer. Your fighting me is just draining you of what precious little energy you have left."

"It's draining you as well, or else I wouldn't be able to slip out of your illusion. It's not easy, but I still can do it."

"You'll tire long before I do. Your next half assed attempt will probably kill you."

Sam let out a hollow laugh. "I didn't get a chance to finish—I know what you are and how to kill you. I just got mixed up between skin walkers and shape shifting demons, Pishacha."

An expression of fear flashed across Heather's face before it hardened again. "You don't have enough strength for a self-exorcism."

"We'll see about that." Sam began chanting the litany he remembered back at the library, focusing every ounce of strength he possessed on the task.

The pishacha screamed and launched herself at Sam's throat. He gasped, trying to pry her vice like grip apart. Spots swam before his eyes as the demon used all of her weight to pin him to the floor.

Just as Sam was about to consider slipping into the void, he heard snarling and felt the demon pull free from him. He gulped air and turned to see Jasper rolling on the ground attacking the pishacha before passing out.

* * *

Sam woke to find himself coated in sweat, panting as if he'd run a marathon, with Dean leaning over him, terrified.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, bro," Dean said hoarsely. He tried to flash a feeble grin.

"You look like shit," Sam croaked.

The older Winchester managed a shaky laugh. "I'm sure I'm _GQ_ material compared to you."

"What happened?"

"Pishacha managed to get close enough to you to inflict a mental attack. They're enough different from other shape shifters that silver just makes them mad."

"Dean…I'm sorry, I should've paid closer attention. I could've gotten us killed."

"Don't worry, Caleb figured it out from you. You were chanting the exorcism while I was on the phone with him, and he gave me the rest of the information to finish the ritual. What were you trying to do, perform a self-exorcism?"

"I'm not too sure. Everything's still jumbled…like all the writing in my nightmare."

"You mean like Batman?"

"Batman? How does Batman fit into getting attacked by a Hindu demon?"

"Remember the cartoon when Batman was dreaming that he was just Bruce Wayne and Batman was another person? He had the life that he thought he always wanted, but he figured out that it was an illusion because all the printing was jumbled. The half of the brain that controls dreams is different from the half that allows us to read."

Sam stared at his brother, searching for words.

Dean shrugged. "Who says you can't learn anything from cartoons?"

"I won't knock them again, that's for sure."

The older Winchester rose to grab a towel from the bathroom. He handed it to Sam as he retook his seat on the edge of the bed. "Out of morbid curiosity, what were you dreaming? My ears are still ringing from your Janet Leigh impersonation."

Sam wiped his face. "I had the average Middle American life—but you and Dad had to die with Mom for me to have it. It wasn't worth it by a long shot."

"I'm glad I'm appreciated, though I wish it wasn't always right after I saved your sorry ass."

"You're the one with the 'no chick flick moments' rule."

"Because you're worse than any therapist I've ever met when it comes to sharing feelings. Now can you sit up and eat something? You've been in the throws of demonic mind melding for the entire night."

Sam groaned as he forced himself upright as he thought, _Back to fighting monsters with my emotionally crippled brother…all is right in my warped little world._

The End


End file.
